Nothing Good
by Seulement Moi CL
Summary: Clove's final moments. Definite one-shot. Rated T for death.


**Disclaimer: Nothing has changed since the last disclaimer I wrote. I still don't own The Hunger Games. Or any of these characters. Not even Clove.**

**Also, I know I have changed the dialogue. I apologize profusely. Sorry, sorry, sorry. But I personally think this fits better with the "Good things don't come to liars" thing. **

I am suddenly nearly eye to eye with District Eleven, Thresh, although his ridiculous height may be playing a factor in the fact that he seems so much larger than me. He's holding me by the collar of my shirt, but in such a way that I can see him. I don't bother to squirm, although I usually would be desperately trying to get out of such a hold. But I notice that he doesn't seem to have any weapons on his person.

"No weapons, Eleven?" I snarl, and his face twists into a distorting grimace, his large eyebrows scrunched together, his nose scrunched, and his mouth twisted in an unattractive manner. But it doesn't matter because he only has a few seconds before I reach the knife in my jacket and plunge it through his chest, gladly.

"Yes weapons, Two," he retorts in a low growl. It would be menacing if I were scared of him, but I'm not, because either I'm going to kill him momentarily or he's going to drop me, and I'm going to finish Twelve and then murder him too.

But weapons? As I scrutinize him, he doesn't seem to be holding anything, although one hand is behind his back. He could be hiding anything, really, and he may well be.

Maybe I'd better talk my way out of this one. I am an accomplished liar, because truth-telling is dangerous. If everyone knows everything about you, then your time is wasted.

"You know, I was only moments away from killing Twelve," I start. "If you put me down now, I'll finish the job, and I'll make it painful." This isn't far from the truth, although, when he puts me down, I doubt he'll be living to see Twelve's death anymore. He'll be dead before my feet touch the ground. But then something else hits me, and I add it quickly. "She killed the little girl, you know."

Thresh seems to pause at the mention of Rue. His hold on my loosens, and he seems to go slightly limp, but the moment I begin to squirm and kick, he tightens his grip on my collar.

"You lie," he states, simply. How? How does he know? I lie to everyone, to my parents, to my siblings, even to my friends. Those people have known me for years, and this is the first time I've been this close to Thresh, and hopefully the last. So how does he know my technique?

"No, I'm telling the truth. I watched her," I say, trying my hardest to sound truthful, but any idiot could tell that I'm lying at this point. I'm practically trembling because I can't reach my knives, as the one I was using lies on the floor and I can't reach into my coat because he's holding it closed. Clever.

But he doesn't bother to respond, and I suspect that my lying about Rue doesn't go over well with him. But it doesn't matter to me until he produces the rock from behind his back.

The pieces fall into place quickly. His arm is poised to throw. The rock is the size of my head. The rock is going to hit my head. And I am going to die.

I lose it, give up with talking my way out of this. I have only one hope, that Cato is close and he can kill Thresh quickly. But deep down, I know that I've not got a hope. I'm dead, and I've given up easily. I've given up too easily, but I'm dead.

"Cato!" I screech, despite my thoughts. "Cato!" I try again, this time even louder than the last.

I hear his words. "I'm coming, Clove!" but I also hear Thresh's words as he brings the rock down on my temple. "Good things don't come to liars," he states, as I fall back down, down towards the ground.

I bring my hand to my head, but I already know I'm going to die. My fears are confirmed when my hand comes away crimson from the blood. _Good things don't come to liars. Liars. Liars._

His words echo in my head as Cato appears beside me, kneeling on the ground. I glance up at him, and from where I lie, nearly dead, pathetic on the ground, he looks so powerful. Like he can kill me in an instant. But I'm already killed, so whatever he does doesn't matter.

His hands reach over and press down lightly on my eyelids. I didn't know he was capable of such a delicate touch, but I suppose I didn't think I was capable of dying, until now. An awful lot of surprises I've been getting today.

"Not dead yet," I mutter, and I struggle to even get the words out. The pain in my head is too great, and I'm trying hard to open my eyes, but I can't.

"I know, Clove. Hush," Cato says in a gentle tone. I've never heard him like this, and I didn't think I ever would. How can he be so gentle, so nice, and such a coldblooded killer? I'll never know.

He speaks his words so sweetly that the viewers must think that this is yet another romance. But we're just friends. Just friends, and only friends. And I'll never know if he wanted anything more.

My thoughts drift to my family. My parents watching me die. I hope I lived up to their expectations, I hope that making it this far was comparable to winning. But I know it won't be enough. I can only imagine their fury now, the pair of them hopping about the room, yelling obscenities at me, at Thresh, even at Cato. But I know they'll only be upset that I didn't win. Not that I didn't make it home. That I didn't win.

"I'm going to win for District Two, Clove," Cato announces in such a loud voice that I think he's forgotten that I'm dying. But it hardly matters, because his words bring something to me, an uplifting feeling in my chest, that is nearly inexplicable. Maybe I can't stand the thought of Cato dying. Maybe I can't stand the thought of District Twelve winning. Or maybe I won't seem like so much of a failure if Cato makes it home. I don't know, but I don't want to spend my last minutes dwelling on it.

"I know it," I say, my words barely a whisper. I know that now, my voice is going, and soon I will die. So I need to say something, and now.

"Goodbye, Cato," I start. "I'll miss you. When you're home, will you tell my parents... tell them that I tried." I explain, and I can only assume that he nods his head.

"I will," he promises, and I manage a smile. But then I remember something else. "Tell them that nothing good comes to liars," I add, and I know from the pause between my words and his that he's confused.

But he agrees anyhow, and I'm grateful. Let's see what my parents can make of that.

Then I remember the final thing. "Kill District Twelve. Make it slow, tell her that Clove wanted it that way." I tell him, and I can't hear my words or his answer. But I can feel my mouth moving, and I know he's heard me.

But all I can think about is that little girl back in District Twelve, blonde hair and blue eyes. Katniss-it's odd to refer to her by name, not District-Katniss's little sister. And for her sake, maybe Twelve's death should be fast.

"Don't" is all I manage to get out, and I doubt that he heard, and even if he did, he probably couldn't make sense of the word. Strangely, I feel a little upset, sympathetic even, to the girl from Twelve. Even if she did get me killed. Because **I**, personally, don't want her sister to watch a long, drawn out death.

_But nothing good comes to liars,_ I remind myself as my cannon fires.


End file.
